The sounds of the township carried dully on the heavy air as he locked up and walked through a small clump of gorse and into a small thicket. Breaking through this, some sixty yards from the road, he came upon a small, well-hidden clearing. Peering through the thickly surrounding trees, he observed a foot-worn path just a few yards away. In seconds, he was past the trees and leaning nonchalantly against a sturdy Yew, looking down the path, awaiting Mary. He was confident that she would come this way, there being no other.
To his left he saw, further along the downward slope of the footpath, what must be Bluebell Dell. Even from the distance, it offered a truly pleasing sight, with a virtual carpet of bluebells swaying gently in the light breeze with small, grassed areas peeping through.
Rounding a bend on the footpath, Mary saw the Jesuit. Her heart missed a couple of beats. He was here! He had actually turned up! Why shouldn’t he? She thought, It’s not as if we are intending any wrong. I am here to seek solace and advice. My wrongdoings are in the past — but yet, why have I recently begun to touch myself in naughty places with the thought of the woman in the church in mind?
She was now but twenty feet from him, her previous nervousness slipping from her as she observed his warm, embracing smile. His hands were reaching out to her in welcome. No, nothing wrong in this: after all, I prefer women, don’t I? Their hands met and clasped. Take me! Scourge me! Rape me! The thoughts impacted on her mind.
The warm, Godly voice was speaking: “Thank you for coming, Mary.”
He remembers my name! “Before we experience the Dell, I wondered if we could have a chat just through the trees here, behind me. It is quiet and private — perfect for contrition.” She allowed him to lead her, their hands still clasped. He walked backwards, perfectly certain of his step, even though this was his first visit to the area. She stumbled on, mesmerised by his gaze, unable to drag her eyes from his. Take me! Take me! Whip me for the sinner I am!
They reached the small clearing and he induced her to sit. Remaining in a standing position before her, Ignatious placed both hands onto her head. “Have you given my words some thought, Mary?” he asked softly. She nodded quickly. “And what is your conclusion?”
Mary croaked the words. “Well. W-well, Father, I agree that it is most probably due to reaching mid-life that I am experiencing these feelings. But…” She paused.
“Yes, my child. Continue.”
Mary quivered as the eyes of The Creator seeped into her; the warm aura had returned. “I am still thinking about women, Father.” She bowed her head in total abjection.
“And what is it that you are thinking about women?” The voice was still warm, soothing, comforting.
“Sex, Father. Having sex.” Unaccountably, tears had begun to trickle from her eyes.
“You must not cry, Mary. You have done nothing wrong. Don’t forget, God knows all. He is prepared to forgive, as long as you love Him. And you do love Him, Mary, don’t you?”
Mary hurried her reply. “Yes. Yes. Oh, yes, Father, I do love Him. I do. I really do.”
“Mary. You have recognised that you are suffering from a mid-life crisis and, as I have said, this is not at all uncommon. It affects different women in different ways. You are simply behaving in a human way.” He smiled benignly. “Even so, you recognise also that you are not happy with your present feelings. Therefore, reject them! Remember how you were before. Be happy in what and who you are. You are no less the person because of your age. In fact, your age is an asset, Mary. Be content with it. Think of the experience; the knowledge you have gained in your years of life. You cannot go back and, if you could, would you? Really? Would you want to be a younger person in today’s difficult world? Think, Mary. Think. Are you better now than you were? Yes! Of course you are! You may feel you have missed out on something but imagine if you had had those things, where would you now be? Happier? More contented?” The Jesuit allowed a long pause for thought. “Kneel, my lovely child,” he then said. “Open your eyes. Look at me. Can you not tell me that your demons are now gone?”
Mary raised herself to a kneeling position, looking up at Ignatious with absolute devotion in her eyes. It was as though she had been carrying a group of acrobats on her shoulders over the past months, but now, now they had tumbled! She felt strangely free, strangely contented. She no longer desired females, of that she was fully certain. This man, this God-like man, had exorcised the devil from her! She smiled as she met those eyes. They entered her whole being. Take me! Scourge me! Rape me! I’m yours! Don’t delay! Now!
Ignatious continued to look down on the wayward woman as his hands once more settled on her head. He could feel his pulses racing through her. Her hands moved to the cotton blouse that she was wearing and began to unfasten the buttons. Completing the job, she slid it from her and unclipped the bra, letting it fall onto the floor. Her breasts stood proudly, the nipples erect. Mary then began to unfasten the skirt and manoeuvre out of it as Ignatious watched silently. When naked, she remained in the kneeling position awaiting her mentor’s instructions. He lowered the cotton trousers he wore, to expose his earthliness to her. Mary took the movement calmly, totally at ease.
“To complete your path to normality, my child,” The tone was as before, unruffled, warm and soothing. “You must accept the staff of The Lord, after which you will be elevated to another plane. Then we will complete your journey.”
The spellbound woman moved her head to her master as she ministered to his desires. Minutes later, she was engaged in frenzied lust, the like of which she had not been involved for many years. At the end, she lay with her legs unashamedly apart, her face flushed and smiling, her mind truly on another plane.
Ignatious stroked each arm in turn, feeling and looking for the telltale signs of immunisation. The only one he found was high on the left arm, an ancient smallpox scar, too closed for his intended purpose. Unfazed, he raised his underpant and trousers from their position around his ankles and fastened them in place. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a slender, squat implement into which he poured a substance from a small phial. Replacing the phial, he bent to Mary. “You are now prepared for the final phase,” he said to her. “And, Mary.” She did not respond. “No matter, but you should refer to me as Brother, not Father.”
Through the mists of her mind, the words clicked into place. “Yes, Father. Take me where you will.”
“The Virgin Mary is awaiting you. She is the one woman whom you can truly love, with a love transcending that which you have experienced here in this miserable world. Go to her!” With that, he pressed the slender object to the scar and pushed on a square knob at the top of it. It travelled only half an inch with a sharp snap, injecting the fluid into the bloodstream with a burst of compressed air.
Mary’s eyes fluttered open, as did her mouth, saying or doing nothing for several seconds. Her eyes then took on a dark hue and she looked with lasciviousness at the holy Brother, seeing him again as a sex object. Her tongue rolled around her lips as she began to smile. Then, suddenly, her body arched upwards, supported on feet and shoulders, and the dark eyes rolled back beyond the eyelids. The tongue protruded in a bizarre rasp as Mary’s breathing became fast and laboured. She uttered a weird snarling sound, then collapsed to the ground, her body shaking from head to toe. She died in minutes from Opium poisoning.
From the top pocket of his shirt, Ignatious gently lifted out a perfectly preserved bunch of humming bird feathers and placed it next to her left thigh. He then replaced the discarded panties and closed her legs, resting the tip of the feathers beneath the thigh, holding it in position. Before leaving the scene, he said a prayer over the body, ending with: “Good Mother of God, receive your sinner and keep her safe.”